Trial and Error
by Every Shade of Blue
Summary: During Baltar's trial, Bill Adama said a lot of things to his son that he regretted afterward. Now it's time for him to make up for it.


A/N: There are few things that bother me more than the fact that Bill never apologizes to Lee for all the crap he said to him in Crossroads. I mean, at the beginning of season four they just sort of act like everything is okay and it never even happened... and, I don't know, that just seems really wrong to me. So I fixed it!

* * *

**Trial and Error**

"_You're calling me a liar?"_

_Those words should have put an end to the conversation right then and there. Bill Adama knew very well that his son was anything but a liar. But he was angry. He was angry because Lee was a soldier, damn it, not a lawyer! He was in way over his head, and it was hurting people Bill cared about. So he continued. "I'm calling you a liar and a coward – one who doesn't have the guts to go after a man himself. Instead, you hand the shiv to a stranger and let him stab Tigh in the back. And for what? Traitorous piece of garbage Gaius Baltar. Doesn't even deserve a trial."_

_Lee barely reacted to the words. His defenses were up, just as they always were around his father, just as they had been ever since he was just a little boy. "Are you done?"_

_Bill had thought his words would have more of an impact, would make Lee see that this wasn't the path he was meant to take, would make him change his mind about getting more involved in the trial. He was disappointed to see that they had done no such thing. So he answered simply, "Yes."_

_Lee's response was even worse than what Bill had anticipated. "Then so am I. I will not serve under a man who questions my integrity." And he removed his wings and placed them on his father's desk. He was resigning._

_Even angrier now, Bill answered before he could stop himself. "And I won't have an officer under my command who doesn't have any."_

_ And then he picked up his son's wings, the symbol of everything that Lee had accomplished and worked so hard for over so many years, the symbol of all the things Lee had done that Bill had been so damned proud of – and he tossed them into a drawer as if they were nothing more than a worthless scrap of metal. As if they were utterly meaningless._

_When Lee answered, his words were just as soft and quiet as ever, as though nothing had happened. "I'll see you in court, Admiral." And then he turned and left. But not before his father caught a glimpse of the hurt in his deep blue eyes._

Bill absentmindedly swirled the drink in his hand, watching the liquid swish around and around the bottom of the glass as he replayed the scene in his head, the same words, the same mistakes running through his mind's eye over and over and over yet again. It had been several days now since the conclusion of Baltar's trial, and Bill had yet to see his son. He wasn't sure if he was avoiding Lee, or if Lee was avoiding him. Probably both. With a frustrated sigh, he lifted the glass to his lips and swallowed the contents, feeling the burn as it slid down his throat.

He needed to talk to his son, that much was obvious. Talk to him – and say what? They needed to clear the air, but how? Bill had always taught his boys that a man lived with the consequences of his mistakes and moved on. But what about when those mistakes involved someone else, someone who, as it turned out, was innocent in the consequences but who was still suffering from them?

Lee's words in the courtroom several days before were still fresh in Bill's mind. It was the first time he could remember that Lee had allowed himself to not just give his opinion, but to justify it in as many words as it took to make everyone understand. Lee wasn't usually like that. Under normal circumstances, it was enough for him to make his own decision based on his own conscience, whether it made sense to those around him or not. And to Bill, it often didn't. His morality was that of a soldier, was black and white wherever possible. Lee's was not. And now, for once, Bill understood why – and he had changed his own mind because of it.

Lee deserved to know that. He deserved to know that the terrible things Bill had said to him at their last meeting had been wrong.

A sudden realization settled onto Bill's mind like a lead weight. Maybe Lee had been right about more than just the trial. Maybe he had been right all along about many more things, and Bill had simply never been able to see it.

"_But don't we have a responsibility? I mean, as leaders, don't we have an obligation to question our actions to... I don't know, to make sure the decisions that we make are the right decisions?"_

At the time, Bill's response had been the same philosophy it had always been: a man takes responsibility for his actions, right or wrong, and lives with the consequences. But, as Lee had said, what if those actions were wrong? A man takes responsibility for them, certainly. But maybe he should do more than that. Maybe he should acknowledge them… and maybe even apologize.

Maybe a man was someone who could both live with his mistakes _and _make amends for them.

Moving to the phone mounted on the wall, Bill slowly picked up the handset and waited until it connected him to CIC. "Mr. Gaeta…" He hesitated for a brief moment, and then continued. "Please send my son to my quarters as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir."

Bill went back to the couch and sat down to wait. To his surprise, it was a long moment before he heard Gaeta's voice broadcasting the announcement throughout the ship.

"Major Adama, report to the Commander's quarters. Pass the message, Major Adama to the Commander's quarters."

It was only when he heard the use of his son's rank – or rather, former rank – that it occurred to Bill that the delay was likely due to Gaeta trying to decide what Lee's current title was. His usage of 'Major' wasn't strictly correct, but it was better than the alternative. Mr. Adama just didn't sound quite right.

Several minutes passed, and Bill began to wonder if Lee would even acknowledge the order. He wasn't under Bill's command anymore, after all. If he still didn't want to talk to his father, Bill could no longer force him to – nor would he blame him.

A quiet knock at the door drew Bill from his reverie. Either Lee did want to talk to him after all, or the soldier in him had won out somehow. But whatever the reason, he was there, and that was all that mattered.

"Enter."

There was a brief, uncertain pause, and then the hatch swung open and Lee stepped inside, automatically shutting the door behind him.

"You wanted to see me – um – sir?"

Bill didn't miss the hesitation in his son's words. In fact, Lee seemed to be uncertain about a great many things at the moment. Aside from how he should address his former commanding officer, he also seemed unable to decide whether or not he should be standing at attention.

Shaking his head slightly at the sight – and reflecting on the strangeness of seeing Lee in civilian clothes rather than a uniform – Bill said quietly, "I'm not your commanding officer anymore, Lee. I'm just your father now."

Lee's gaze shifted from the wall behind his father to his face for a brief moment, before somehow finding its way down to Lee's shoes. "O-okay."

Bill couldn't blame him for not knowing how to respond. After all, he'd been more of a commander than a father to Lee for most of his life. He gestured to the couch next to him. "You can sit down if you want."

Lee again hesitated for a moment, and then sat uncertainly on the very edge of the cushion, looking terribly uncomfortable. He didn't say a word, and he still didn't look at his father.

"I called you here because I wanted to talk to you about… about what was said between us the last time we met during the trial," Bill began slowly, suddenly feeling just as uncertain with this whole situation as Lee looked. "I said some things I shouldn't have, and I want you to know that I was wrong."

"It's okay." Lee's voice was small and unconvincing. He didn't sound like he believed his own words.

Bill's heart broke. After everything he'd said and done to hurt his son, here was Lee trying to tell him that none of it mattered, that everything was fine, because that was what he'd been doing his entire life. He was so used to thinking that his father was disappointed in him that he didn't even try to believe differently anymore.

"No, it's not," Bill said firmly. "It's not okay. I said things that day that no parent should ever say to their child, and I need you to know that I was wrong. And… and that I'm sorry."

Lee tensed noticeably at the soft words, finally forcing himself to look up at his father. His eyes were full of confusion. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Lee. For what I said to you that day, and for a lot of other things. You've never done anything but what you know to be right, and I've always ended up condemning you for it, because I'm too damned stubborn and bullheaded to see things the way you do. But you're a better man than I am, and I know that now. At the trial, you made me understand you, and I'm glad of that. I just wish I would have given you the chance to do it sooner."

Lee stared at his father in shock, unable to think of a response. These were things he'd never dreamed he'd hear from the great William Adama, and he didn't know what to do. "W-were you… were you one of the ones who voted to pardon Baltar?"

Bill nodded. "Yes. Because of you."

Lee looked away again, still struggling to find something, anything to say to his father. He had long ago given up hope of ever hearing anything like this from him. As much as he wanted his father's love and respect, it had been years since he'd expected anything more than a pat on the back for a job well done.

"I spent so long trying to make you just like me," Bill continued quietly. "It took me far too long to realize that there's so much more to you than that. You've got some of me and some of your mother… and some of your grandfather," he added with a wry smile. "And… and something else that's just _you_. Something that's all Lee, that gives you that good heart and the courage to follow it. And I think… I finally understand that." He reached out and rested a hand on his son's shoulder, feeling Lee's tense muscles automatically relax under the soft touch. "I want you to know, Lee, that I'm proud of you. I know how angry and miserable you were when you first came here, but I've watched you grow so much since then, and I am so proud of you. I'm proud of you for everything you've done with this life that you never wanted in the first place. And I'm proud of you for always doing what you know is right…" he paused, taking a deep breath, then continued slowly, "even when the people who were supposed to love you the most abandoned you because of it, without so much as a second thought."

Lee squeezed his eyes shut, the play of emotions across his face further breaking his father's heart.

"Oh, Lee…" Bill moved his hand from his son's shoulder, brushing it lightly over his hair. To his relief, Lee smiled reluctantly and finally looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears of gratitude.

"Love you," Bill said softly.

Lee smiled again. "Love you, too, Dad."

They sat quietly for a long while, enjoying the newfound comfort in each other's company. For the first time since he was just a child, Lee was reminded of what it felt like to be part of a family.

"What will you do now?" Bill asked at long last, breaking the easy silence. When Lee hesitated before responding, he stood and moved to his desk, opening a certain drawer and taking a small object out of it. Returning to his seat next to his son, he held his hand out. Resting in his palm were Lee's wings. "I have a feeling you won't be putting these back on."

Lee slowly reached out and took the insignia, turning it in his fingers. Finally, he shook his head. "I might have taken these off for the wrong reasons, but… no. To be honest, I've been thinking about this for a long time. It's time for a change." He looked down at the floor again, suddenly looking almost embarrassed. "I've, uh… I've actually been looking into the government. There's a position opening up there…" He shrugged sheepishly. "I think I might be able to make a real difference." He held the wings out to his father.

Bill took them back and smiled at his son. "I think you'll make a difference no matter where you go."

"Thanks, Dad," Lee grinned, reddening slightly.

As silence threatened to descend between them yet again, Bill glanced up at the clock, surprised to see how long they had been talking. "It's late. You should go get some sleep."

Lee nodded, standing up. "Yeah, I guess. Oh, and Dad… I'm, uh, I'm gonna be leaving soon, and the pilots are sort of planning a bit of a farewell party… and I want you to be there."

Bill smiled again, happier than he could have described at the knowledge that his son wanted him to come and see him off. "I'll be there," he promised.

Lee smiled again, looking just as happy as his father felt. "Good. Okay, well… I'm gonna go… 'night, Dad."

"Goodnight, kiddo," Bill answered as Lee stepped outside and shut the hatch behind him. Then he took a deep breath, pouring another small measure into his forgotten glass and taking a sip.

His son was leaving. It was for the best, he supposed. Lee had done so much as a pilot and as a commander, but he couldn't go any farther where he was now. In the government, though, there was a lot he could do. With a bit of luck, he'd be able to change things for the better.

Finishing off the last of his drink, Bill got to his feet, tiredly rubbing the back of his neck as he headed for his rack. There were some important things he needed to do, but they could wait until morning. In the morning, he would find out when Lee was due to leave, and he would make sure he got the sendoff he deserved. He would make sure Major Leland Joseph Adama was recognized for everything he had done over the last few years.

Pausing briefly next to his desk, Bill picked up a wooden frame, looking at the picture it contained with a smile. Two little boys smiled back at him, one with dark hair and suntanned skin, the other fairer skinned and dirty blonde.

Bill sighed, for the first time in years easily connecting the happy little boy in the photograph to the young man he knew now. Putting the picture back down on the desk, he spoke to the youthful face as he clicked off the light:

"Good luck out there, Lee."


End file.
